520 Useless

"Doesn't seem right, Boss..." 

Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark stared at the bottle of jam with healthy skepticism. 

Tycon applied the stuff to a slice of cured meat using a weird knife (he called it a... spreading knife?) 

"It's good," The green-haired noble pushed the bottle towards him, "Try it." 

Lone tried it. 

...It was good. 

Without Maisie, dinner was a simple fare of cured meats, cheeses, and some fresh bread. It was a good meal... not quite... 'Golden Eagle' luxurious, but... it's not like Lone could complain to the Captain about it. 

It was just him and Tycon in the dining hall. With Elladan confessing to the murder and confined to a bed, there wasn't a reason to stay together, anymore. 

"Boss, what's gonna happen to Mister Elladan?"

"Tss," Tycon scoffed. "With his recent injury, his adventuring career is likely over... I doubt he'd be able to afford Third-Circle healing."

"I mean..." Lone bit his lower lip, trying to think about what exactly he was trying to say... "He's probably going to prison, right? Maybe Turrim Orientem? I still have some friends there..."

Tycon nodded, chewing and gulping down a bite, "Mister Elladan has murdered a High Elf in cold blood. If he is imprisoned by the Holy Country, it won't be for long. House Highblade will come for him."

Lone grimaced, "They'll... take care of him, then?"

"The elves do... everything." Tycon rolled his eyes, "They dabble in art and archery... spells and swordsmanship-- not with great focus, which is my main complaint... but over the course of hundreds of years, their experience accrues to levels that can be considered... mastery."

He paused to take a sip of Tyrion wine, "The torture the half-blood is set to endure will be... most unpleasant. Pass the eggs, if you would, Mister Lone."

"Sure," Lone pushed a bowl of boiled eggs to the opposite side of the table... "I can't believe Maisie died, too..."

"Dying of strangulation in her room was... troublesome. She could have hopped off the deck for at least one less inconvenience." Tycon groaned, "It's frustrating enough without anyone onboard that can land the ship."

"Ehhh... At the time, Mister Giorgio and Lady Lucrezia were in the hall. She couldn't have gone out so--" Lone hesitated, furrowing his brows. 

Something... bothered him. 

Greatly. 

"Boss... why do you eat eggs like that?"

He had... swallowed an entire egg whole... like a snake. 

Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Am I doing something... incorrectly?"

...He seemed fine, though? 

"No, I guess not." Lone shook his head... "Wait, what?"

"What?"

"What do you mean?"

Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Be more specific."

"Should I be worried?"

"No, Boss!" Lone took in a deep breath, "About the ship not being able to land?"

"Oh," Tycon breathed a sigh of relief. "No. We have plenty of time until it becomes a pressing issue. I'll inspect the formations and attempt a dialogue with the ship's Elemental Spirit soon enough.

"In the interim..." He flicked his wrist, his puzzle box appearing in his empty palm, "--I'm going to spend a few more bells on this."

"You really like that thing," Lone grinned. 

"I'm very close to solving it," Tycon smirked. "I found the 'trick' the late Captain mentioned. It won't be long, from there."

"Wanna show me?"

"No."

"Aw... alright," Lone pushed his empty plate away and stood up to stretch. "I'm gonna head back to start my sleep cycle, Boss. Could you wake me up, just like the other night? I should be fine after two bells."

"Take four," Tycon advised, his attention still focused on his cube. "Your faculties will suffer otherwise. Six bells in two suns is your limit, according to my observations."

"That'll be fine," Lone nodded. 

He turned to walk away... but with a new thought in mind, he turned back. 

"Hey, uh... Brother-Tycon?" 

"Yes?" Tycon glanced up. 

Lone scratched at the back of his head, "Thanks for always backing me up. I know I've been a bit selfish, recently."

"I can generally say the same of myself, to you," Tycon rolled his eyes, chuckling to himself, "Good night, Brother-Lone."

...

⟬ A few bells later... ⟭ 

Coraline hoped that everything would wind down after Elladan confessed to having murdered Lord Arod. 

Olesya was notified-- she didn't particularly care. 

Mister Giorgio and Lady Lucrezia found some relief in it.

Miss Maisie... when they entered her room, they found her dead. 

She had hung herself on the top part of her bunk... long enough for her face to turn a grim, bluish-purple. Sir Tychon cut her down and laid a blanket atop her with as much care as snapping a branch off of a tree. 

The bells after that didn't get much better. 

Miserable grey clouds formed outside the ship and it started to rain.

The winds didn't seem very strong, but sometimes... the Golden Eagle rocked erratically to a side. Sometimes it dropped a few fulms, giving a very uncomfortable feeling of weightlessness for that split second. 

There was thunder, too... and the lightning flashes would brighten the inside of the halls from the portholes in the ceiling. 

The few remaining passengers ate a somber, simple dinner.

Lady Lucrezia baked some bread that had been prepared earlier. They had that, cured slices of meat, and some fresh lettuce. Without a proper cook, it was a very good meal without too much work. 

Coraline ate quickly and excused herself. 

Using the Captain's key, she searched the rooms with the 'great attention to detail' she was known for... also using Olesya's magic-detection wand to aid her... 

It was useless. 

She couldn't find any sign of the Blades of the Forgotten King... not even a sliver of its magical signature. She did find a weapon-- Mister Giorgio's gaudy, nonmagical dagger. That wasn't any help. 

She searched the rooms thrice over... even the rooms that were unused. She even checked the vault! She looked everywhere but the Engine Room...

She wanted to give up. People died... one of them, Felicity, she even cared about. And even as hard as she tried... it was useless. 

*She* was useless.